In which there is a Dragon and a Tower
by jazzymegster
Summary: Penelo watches, pretending she isn't. Hadn't thought of him as an artist. Didn't know if he was enjoying himself, or simply bemused.


Title: In which there is a Dragon and a Tower  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary:_ Penelo watches, pretending she isn't. Hadn't thought of him as an artist. Didn't know if he was enjoying himself, or simply bemused._

Disclaimer: I do not own FFXII, Square-Enix do.

Notes: written for crack100 on insanejournal. Prompt: playdough.

Sadly it's neither cracky nor a drabble. Epic fail! :D That said, this was an interesting writing exercise. I like this style, but I don't know that I'll use it again. I like the italics-as-dialogue idea - it should be clear enough who's speaking from how they speak, but if not, let me know.

* * *

Basch pushes the playdough between his fingers.

Penelo watches, pretending she isn't. Hadn't thought of him as an artist. Didn't know if he was enjoying himself, or simply bemused.

He isn't making anything, merely moving it around.

She watches his hands. Watches muscles in his hands and wrists flex and move. There is a lot of power there. Strength she would have if she could.

She doesn't speak as she sits beside him. Just carries on watching, absorbed by him.

A question: _What will you make?_

He shrugs in reply.

_Can I try?_

He breaks it equally. Passes her one half, without speaking. It feels strange. Like clay. Like love made solid. Possible to meld it and twist it. To make what you will of it.

Concentration.

They are wordless for a long time.

She makes a tower. Complexity in miniature. Its spires soar.

He still has nothing but an amorphous mass. He holds it, expecting it to melt between his fingers.

Splat,  
splat,  
splat.

It remains solid and silent, as does he.

_It's beautiful_, he says, gesturing to her tower.

_Yes, but there is a princess, captive there, waiting for her knight._

A blush rises across his face, fire deepening his silence.

_Like in the stories_, she adds. Not mentioning that perhaps she is the princess.

_Yes. I remember them_.

His fingers move again now, but she no longer watches. Soon a slain dragon joins the tower on the ground in front of them.

_Perhaps her knight is already there?_

She has stolen his silence. She dare not speak. There is heat. She feels it crossing her face mutely.

_Why do you blush so?_

_Why did you?_ she demands.

Neither answers. Each knows what the other will say.

His hand touches hers. She does not withdraw it. His exhalation is one of relief.

_Who slew the dragon?_

_The knight. I told you this already._

_No. You said he was there. Maybe the princess slew it._

He raises an eyebrow. His scar quirks, victim to the muscles beneath. _I had not considered that._

_Maybe the dragon is not the only thing she will slay._

His eyebrow twitches again.

Hesitation.

_Later she will dance. She will tell all of her victory._

_Victory?_

_In slaying the dragon. It was a menace for a long time._

_And the knight?_

_He sleeps in her bedchamber. She will tell no-one of him._

_I do not recall the stories ending that way._

_You read the wrong stories_, she teases. Wild grin on her face.

Anticipation.

_Is that so?_

_Yes._

His hand brushes her arm, comes to rest by her elbow. A shiver. Ice against the fire.

_And then?_ he prompts.

_He remains her protector, her lover, forever more._

_That is not how the stories end._

_No, it isn't. I prefer my ending._

They are closer now. Her head almost on his shoulder. His arm around her shoulders.

_Do you think the ending to your story will go as well?_

She sighs. _I would like it to._

_Would you tell of your victory?_

_I haven't slain a dragon._

_No_. A kiss on her forehead. His pulse pounds. _But you have slain me._ A kiss on her cheek. Her mouth. Another.

Fulfilment.

_Is that so?_ Her breath is ragged now. Her body aches for him.

_It is._ His hand moves, touches bare skin on her back.

Silence.

Echoes.

_They will return soon. They did not go far_. He lifts her. Easily takes her weight.

_Don't hurry on their account._

_Will it not bother you should they discover us?_

_Who says they have to?_

Later, she dances by firelight. Moves to a beat in her head. A victory dance, perhaps.

He watches. Is hungry for more.

She dances for him. For him alone.

The plateau of dragon and tower remains, forgotten. But the story is not.

She breathes hard. Doesn't miss a step. Watches him, watching her.

They play a waiting game.

She stops. Pulse pounding. Nerves jangling.

_You are tired?_

_No. Are you?_

_No_. He takes her hands in his.

She burns as a star.

He stands. _Was that your victory dance?_

A shake of the head. _You haven't seen my victory dance yet._

_No?_

_I'll show you. But not here. Not where we can be heard._

_Not heard?_

_You'll see_. Clears her throat. _I promise you_.

His scar twitches, just visible by firelight. Soon darkness and moonlight will swallow all.

Intrigue.

His arm around her shoulders again. Walks her away from the fire. Has promises of warmth, soon to be delivered.

_Was that not a victory dance earlier?_

_I didn't know if you were mine for sure then. Now I know._

_Am I yours?_

_I'd like to think so._

They reach a pool. Moonlight reflects in mirror-like water.

She is strips. Runs into the water before he can stop her. He joins her. Carries her back to dry land. Sets her down carefully. The water trickling from her body makes a sodden mess of their clothes.

_For as long as I can_, he says, _I will protect you._

_As long as you can?_

_I cannot say better than that. The future is wont to change._

A kiss. He touches her. Worships her.

_Are you mine?_

_I would like to think so._

Echoes.

_Is this the right kind of story?_ he asks, when time has passed and the moon has crossed the sky.

_The outcome's as I thought. The princess got her knight, didn't she?_

_Indeed she did._

Silence.

_Did you never think that perhaps the knight always wanted the princess?_

_I -- No._

An unasked question.

_My stories don't always end happily._

_But this one did._

_Yes. For now._

_You are unsure?_

_No. But you said the future's fickle. Life isn't like stories._

He holds her close. _And not all stories end the way you expect. Perhaps life is more like the stories than you think._

_Maybe._

_I will try my best._

Hesitation.

_Was that your victory dance?_

She smiles. Sighs. Blushes, fire against the ice of the night. _Yes. I thought you knew that. What would you do to celebrate a victory?_

A kiss. A momentary pause. _I will show you another time._

_Another time?_

_I wanted to be sure of myself. Be patient. I will show you tomorrow._


End file.
